• View kipdurney’s profile on Facebook
  • View kipdurney’s profile on Twitter
  • View kipdurney’s profile on Instagram
  • View kipdurney’s profile on Pinterest
  • View durney’s profile on LinkedIn
  • View kipdurney’s profile on GitHub
  • View kipdurney’s profile on YouTube
  • Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to content
  • Skip to primary sidebar

Tubalub

A Blog

  • Home
  • About
  • KipDurney.Com
  • Topics
    • Community
    • Animal Rescue
    • Life
      • Coming of Age
      • A Moment In Time
      • Friendship
      • Relationships
      • Holidays
    • Family
      • Daughters
      • Dads
      • Sons
      • Parenting
      • Teachable Moments
      • Prematurity
    • Humor
You are here: Home / Archives for Top Posts

Top Posts

46 things I wish I knew as an expectant father

March 4, 2014 by Kip Durney

When I first became a dad, I had absolutely no clue what I was doing or what I was in for. In fact, there are some who would argue I’m not in a better place now after 7 1/2 years either but that’s another story altogether and for another time.

Having your first child (or children in my case) is as overwhelming as it is exciting. There is no rule or instruction book that comes with each baby. And while most of parenting comes from trial and error and is customized to each wonderfully unique baby, there are some things that I wish I had known back then that would have spared me some anxiety and growing pains.

So I offer to you 46 morsels of expectant dad advice that hopefully will keep you just a little bit more sane than you may have been without it.

multitasking.jpg

  1. Get a Peepee Teepee. Once you become an expert, you can just toss a wipe over it to block any unexpected geysers.
  2. Do NOT register for a bottle warmer. They are completely useless. Use a bowl of hot water from the tap and drop the bottle in it for a few minutes.
  3. You probably don’t need a portable changing pad. You’ll get so good and fast at changing a diaper it falls under the 10 second rule.
  4. I’ve said it before but two words: Amazon Prime – diapers and wipes automatically delivered to your door.
  5. The Good Night Light: if you ever want to sleep past sunrise, invest in Mr. Sunshine and Mr. Moon.
  6. Feed twins at the same time. If one is sleeping and the other wakes up to eat, wake the other one up even if you have to open the window in the middle of a polar vortex. Multi-tasking is your friend.
  7. Accept that fact that changing a #2 diaper will never be perfect – there are just far too many belly folds and hiding places.
  8. Stick to a schedule no matter what. It just might save your life and your marriage.
  9. If you’re traveling, only book direct flights even if it costs you your second child. There is no room for error here.
  10. Alternate feedings with your wife or significant other. At least that will usually give you each a 4 hour block of continuous sleep if you’re lucky.
  11. Always book early morning doctor visits so you don’t end up sitting in the diseased waiting room for hours with little Johnny.
  12. Wipe warmers are a complete waste of money. And all they do is dry out the wipes so you end up with a brittle dry napkin. Plus, a cold wipe just might jolt them enough to keep them awake for that feeding!
  13. Accept the fact now that you will be overly exposed to all kinds of bodily fluids from little people. And you won’t even care.
  14. Vomit will not phase you.
  15. Never burp a baby without a burp cloth on your shoulder especially when dressed for work.
  16. Skip the Diaper Genie. Simply wrap and tie the dirty diaper in a plastic bag from the grocery store and drop it in the kitchen trash barrel. Yes, for the sake of sanity, you must forgo being ‘green’ for that short time in your diaper-changing life.
  17. Sleep is a luxury you cannot afford right now.
  18. Learn to sleep when they sleep no matter what time it is. Seriously, even if you can close your eyes for 20 minutes on the couch, do it.
  19. Don’t switch them to a bed until they ask to do so or until they are unsafe in a crib (we used a crib tent until little Houdini escaped.)
  20. Don’t keep a newborn in your room for too long. Move them into their own room before they get comfortable in yours.
  21. Don’t let them sleep overnight in your bed. Trust me on this. For SO many reasons. Just don’t do it even though you think it will help you get more sleep – it won’t. It won’t help with your marriage either.
  22. Baby proof your house BEFORE the baby comes home. And then invite friends/family over with small kids and see if they can hack into your cabinets or break the gate open at the top of your stairs. Hopefully not!
  23. DON’T FORGET TO ADD THE BABY TO YOUR HEALTH INSURANCE IMMEDIATELY! In fact, do it the day they are born to be safe! Just call your insurance company and have the baby added. Think of it as your first duty as a dad! This can save you a huge headache down the road.
  24. If your can afford it, bank their cord blood.
  25. Put your gym membership on hold for a couple of months if it’s allowed. You won’t be going for a while.
  26. Start asking your friends, family, and neighbors about a babysitter… it will take months, if not at least a year, before you find someone you trust enough to take care of your little angel.
  27. Be sensitive to your wife’s moods and feelings. Her body just went through the apocalypse so if she seems a little testy or emotional, cut her some slack.
  28. Take paternity leave!! Preferably right away so you too can bond with the baby as well as your wife (or S.O.)! Take the time to work together to figure out a routine that works for your newly expanded family. Some of those late night, sleep-deprived conversations that you’ll have together are priceless.
  29. Learn to swaddle a baby.
  30. Learn to make high-pitched sounds and funny faces. You won’t even care who’s watching if it makes your baby smile.
  31. Always keep a backup pacifier in your pocket.
  32. Post pictures and updates on your Facebook page or blog so people won’t keep asking “How are you doing? Do you have any pictures?” over and over again. They mean well but it can be overwhelming after a while when you’re working on 3 hours sleep and have vomit on your shoulder.
  33. Get them into the water (bathtub, sink, pool). It will help them immensely in so many ways. Skip the beach for a while. Between the sand, the blazing sun, and the waves, you might want to wait until they are a little older before hitting Crane Beach.
  34. Get a baby swing. It may have saved my life.
  35. Get a jumperoo thingy.
  36. Those crib mobiles actually worked for us. Wind ‘em up and the awe commences.
  37. Let the dog be part of the new family. Bring home some used baby blankets from the hospital before you bring your baby home if you can. Let the dog smell them and get used to the smells. When the baby comes home, introduce the two in a safe way. A face lick won’t hurt and they usually love it! Remember, the dog needs some time to adjust too with all the attention now being redirected to the new smelly and loud blob in the corner.
  38. Make room in the freezer for all the breast milk that is about to be pumped. A LOT of room.
  39. Clearly label the breast milk. You’ll make that mistake once.
  40. With that laptop on your belly late at night posting pictures of your new angel, open up a 529 account before it becomes one of those things you keep meaning to do but never actually do.
  41. Hunker down for a while at home especially in winter. You don’t want to expose your new baby to harmful germs if you can help it. It’s only temporary and you really just want to give them some time to get in a groove before subjecting them to the perpetual cold that they will get soon enough.
  42. Remember your wife. Remind her that she’s beautiful and you love her. She may not feel it right now and you saying it will make her feel better even though she’ll deny it.
  43. Don’t just take pictures, take video too. And write. Looking back, it’s one of the things I most cherish about that time.
  44. Both you and your wife are tired, overwhelmed, exhausted, and have no idea what you are doing yet. Be patient with each other. Learn together. Nobody has all the answers and every kid is different.
  45. Growing pains are real so when the little guy wakes up saying his legs hurt in the middle of the night (6 times), don’t discount his pain.
  46. Above all, remember… this is just a phase.

Hang on tightly. It’s the scariest, but most beautiful, ride you’ll ever take.

What tips do you have for the new Dad (or Mom!)?

Kip can be reached at kipdurney@gmail.com or on Twitter @kipdurney

Share this:

  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • More
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to print (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: Dads, Parenting, Relationships, Top Posts, Twins

Open letter to my daughters

January 13, 2014 by Kip Durney

A&Z,

I have sat down for the past several months trying to write this letter to you both but have not been able to find the words. I wrote Open Letter to My Son with relative ease so I have been perplexed as to why I have had such a hard time writing to you.

Until today.

You both are the miracles that almost never came true; your births embody the best and worst moment of my life. I was forever changed that day, in both good ways and bad, but I’m realizing now that my consternation in writing to you is that I’m afraid of coming up short because you deserve nothing but the best.

By the time you read this, you’ll be old enough and experienced enough to know that I’m not perfect. What I hope you glean from all of this is the understanding that while the doctors and nurses may have saved your lives, you two are the shooting stars that saved my life.

1025952_10152231818901349_1248373664_o (1)
1502316_10152231819251349_915986966_o

But that is a story for another day.

As you two grow older, wiser, and ever more beautiful, I have come to the realization that you were put in my life to show me another way and to teach me what’s important in life. Sons and daughters are different in so many ways. I, for the most part, understand your brother. I guess it’s a guy thing. You on the other hand, often perplex me and teach me ways to look at even the mundane in another light.

You surprise me everyday.

I find it hard to think about you growing up and one day, moving on to live your own lives in college or elsewhere and beyond. I want so much to protect you, hold you, and keep you close. But of course I know the day will come when that room upstairs will empty out and you’ll be off to find yourself – to explore, learn, love, and experience.

Before you leave, I offer you the following suggestions for living a purposeful, fulfilling, and adventurous life as well as some things that I want you to know about me:

1. First and foremost, you will always be daddy’s little girl. I will always see you as that shooting star, cradled in my arms. Just accept it.
2. I maintain an irrational but tangible fear of not being able to always keep you safe. And because that’s my job, it keeps me up at night even now when you’re only 7. So when you get older, remember that dear old dad is worried about you so call him and let him know you’re ok.
3. My only wish for you is for you to be happy. If you have that, everything else falls into place.
4. We make our own destinies; don’t wait for it to happen because it won’t and you’ll look back wondering where you went wrong. Take risks, explore, learn, and call your father when you get home.
5. You are beautiful inside and out. Don’t let the media, people, or yourself make you feel differently.
6. When you were 6, I started to take you both out on dinner dates alone. I’ve never felt such pride and happiness during those dinners. I hope that when you’re 36, we’re still making time for each other.
7. Never let anyone treat you as anything less than the smart, beautiful, and funny girls you are. Love and be loved but don’t accept anything less.
8. Zoe – I always loved playing soccer with you on the front lawn and the day you innocently explained to me what the middle finger meant. Good stuff.
9. Ava – I melted the day you said to me, “Daddy – I wrote this story about a puppy just like you write stories on your computer.”
10. Remember to always speak up, speak your mind, but be respectful of other opinions. Be heard.
11. You matter. When you’re feeling down or defeated, call me. I’ll always be there for you even if it’s just for a cup of coffee and a shoulder to lean on.
12. Never settle.
13. Trust, but verify. In love and life.
14. Like I told your brother, I’m sorry for the days that I yelled at you for something I’m sure wasn’t important. I can honestly say, I tried my best to be a good parent but sometimes I fell short and that’s not your fault.
15. I’m probably never going to like your boyfriends. You should just accept that because I’m having a hard time just talking about it now.
16. If you get in trouble, I will be the first one at your side to help you, make sure you’re safe, and then ground you for a month.
17. Of course, get a puppy.
18. At some point in your life, live alone. Bask in the time spent with ‘you.’ But know that you can always come home for any reason. Keep the key.
19. Read. And continue to write your stories.
20. When you look back at your baby pictures, just remember that I did my best with those hair thingys. And if you are not home by curfew with that new boyfriend, I’ll show him the pictures!
21. Learn to ski, snowboard, or go hiking. Being on top of a mountain on a sunny crisp day will be some of the most magical moments of your life.
22. Always come home for the holidays.
23. You can always curl up with Dad on the couch no matter how old you are.

When you were born, they told us that you might very well not make it through the night. But you did. Embrace the gift you have been given and live YOUR life. Choose to be happy and always remember that we love you, unconditionally.

PS: Don’t forget: Dinner at 8 with Dad on Thursday night. See you then.

Share this:

  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • More
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to print (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: A Moment In Time, Coming of Age, Dads, Daughters, Parenting, Top Posts

93 days: a lesson in love, life, and hope

December 28, 2013 by Kip Durney

There are sometimes moments in life that change us. And sometimes, there are experiences that alter our essence to such a degree, that everything we’ve ever thought about the world can change in the blink of an eye.

And it did.

The fact that my girls are now in school is amazing to me considering their humble beginnings. Like many things in life, the beauty is the journey and it’s taken me some time to be able to really accept and process the journey that brought us to where we are today.

When my wife and I first got pregnant, the feeling was nothing less than sheer jubilation and excitement. It was a planned pregnancy and we were ready to take on the challenges of being first-time parents – or so we thought. Our initial experience was text-book – home test, pre-natal vitamins, first doctor appointment to hear the heartbeat, etc… Everything was normal until that one day, that one test, that one technician who said:

“I see you are having twins.”

Gasp.

“What the heck did you just say? Twins? Are you kidding me? Wow!”

Up to that point, we were expecting a single baby. It was shocking to say the least – good shocking, but let me tell you, I almost fell over. Val and I were so excited that we couldn’t stop smiling, giggling, and fumbling our hands. The technician just smiled and was genuinely happy for us. It was absolutely one the most amazing moments of my life. And that’s all it was – a brief moment in time.

Our amazing, life-altering moment came to a screeching halt with, “Something doesn’t look quite right. Let me get the doctor.”

In an instance, that jubilation turned to the most horrifying moment of my life, all in the span of 3 minutes. Little did we know that we were about to embark on the most excruciatingly painful journey of our lives.

When the technician left the exam room to get the doctor, Val and I sat in silence for a moment. There was a frozen image on the monitor of two babies that didn’t look right to the technician, but to us, they were the most amazing and beautiful things we had ever seen. It was a monochrome representation of our future family, our future memories, our future happiness.

How could something so amazingly beautiful NOT be right?

I gulped.

Val gulped.

We held hands and took several deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm ourselves and we sat in silence for what seemed like hours. I’m not sure I’ve ever been that afraid in my life, or at least up to that point. I would soon discover what it was like to truly be afraid of something.

The doctor came in and performed an exam.

“There seems to be an increased nuchal fold on the back of the neck of baby #1.”

And just like that, we were whisked down a hallway to “genetic counseling.” It was there that they explained to us that such a diagnosis or detection can be an indication of Down Syndrome or worse. They dutifully and professionally explained what that meant in great detail, offered a myriad of statistics, and presented our options.

It was so much to take in all in the span of an hour.

Twins, “something’s wrong”, nuchal something or other, baby #1, Down Syndrome, selective reduction.

Did you catch that?

Selective reduction… there are no words.

We sat in that dimly lit office for a long while, alone but together, trying to make sense of it all – an exercise in futility for sure. The joy, exuberance, and hope that we had so enjoyed just a few hours earlier faded away and we were left with the only emotion that made sense – fear.

The fairy tale pregnancy had ended and was replaced with what we slowly began to recognize as one of the crossroads in life when you have to hold on to your seat as if your life depended on it. And in this case, it was the fate our unborn children that lay in the balance.

There was nothing else to do at that moment but cry.

When the team of doctors and counselors returned, they explained to us that “baby #1″ was showing indications of an increased (abnormal) nuchal fold and that additional tests would be needed to determine the validity of those findings. The tests were performed immediately and we were told it would take two weeks for the cultures to grow in order to know definitively what was potentially wrong and what our options might include.

We left the office in silence, emotionally exhausted, and overwhelmed.

We didn’t sleep. We didn’t eat. We held our breath for two, long excruciatingly painful weeks.

And then the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Courtney from Brigham & Women’s Hospital Department of Maternal Fetal Medicine. Is this Kip?”

“Yes, this is Kip. Hi Courtney.”

“I just received the results of the test.”

I sat down. My heart raced and pounded out of my chest. My throat went dry and my fingers trembled. After two weeks of waiting, we finally were about to get the results that either way would change us forever.

I braced myself for the worst. “Ok, and they were?” I asked reluctantly.

“Inconclusive.”

My heart broke.

I hung up the phone, closed my eyes, and sunk my face in my hands.

This cycle repeated for months and after each test, the phone would ring and the results were always the same: inconclusive. Eventually, there was nothing more to do. There were no more tests to offer. There was just no definitive answer.

Selective reduction was NOT an option.

So, life went on with us not knowing if something was in fact, wrong. All we knew was that they couldn’t tell us that something WAS wrong and that was enough for us. We were cautiously optimistic and decided together that there was nothing more that we could do and we were going to be HAPPY about this pregnancy. We were willing to accept the outcome whatever that may be.

We painted their room pink with a green and white border. I even painted the radiator pink. We bought 2 cribs, 2 mattresses, 2 dressers, 2 changing pads, 2 crib sets, and ten million and seven diapers. We registered at Babies ‘R’ Us and used the hand-held scanners to zap away our fears and replace them with images of happy and healthy babies that we saw all over the store. THAT was going to be us. Everything was going to be OK.

Life was good and Val’s belly was growing and she felt the best she’s felt in her life. Her smile was infectious; her contentment and joy was tangible. I had never seen her so happy.

To be safe, we had weekly sonograms. As long as everything remained “inconclusive,” there was hope for us, for our babies, and for our anticipated family.

We knew that we had the best medical care available anywhere in the world. The medical team that followed our case was world-renowned. We had to accept that the human body is a remarkable thing and sometimes even the most advanced scientific knowledge and research can’t give you the answer you desperately want.

All checks were in place and the twins were monitored very, very closely for any indication of distress. Everything remained quiet and they continued to grow and display all the normal signs of gestational development. We remained in close contact with the entire medical team throughout the pregnancy and at any sign of concern, it was communicated immediately. We weren’t taking any chances.

Life went on and we became more and more convinced that everything was going to be ok – that if something was really wrong, we’d have known by then. And the doctors assured us that everything was moving along just fine.

I had a trip coming up to Toronto and asked our doctor if there was any reason that I should not go. It was only for a few days and Val was only 27 weeks along (a full term singleton baby delivers at 40 weeks). We were assured that there was no reason at all to cancel my trip. All would be fine.

On the second day of my trip (a Friday), Val called me on her way into work to check in. She said she was feeling just fine but had some very mild discomfort that she was going to talk to the nurse practitioner about when she got to work (she worked at the same hospital). It was no cause for alarm and she would call me later after she talked to her.
Luckily, the NP was able to squeeze her in for an office visit and Val popped on over for a quick check-up. All was fine and there was nothing to worry about. So Val went about her business at work.

Later we were told that Val’s nurse practitioner was leaving work for the day and was walking to her car in the garage when something began to bother her. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she just ‘had a feeling’ that something wasn’t right. She called Val’s cell phone and asked her to go to the ER and get a steroid shot as a precaution (steroid shots are often given to patients in jeopardy of pre-term birth to help boost lung development which is one of the last organs to develop in a baby). This was just as a precaution.

Val called to tell me and I became very uncomfortable. But the doctors assured me that there was no reason to return and that “there will be no babies born today.” Regardless, I planned to leave the next morning on the first flight out as it was already 4pm and getting a flight out now would be difficult. Plus the doctor was sure that all this was a precaution.

Val sounded fine and didn’t seem overly concerned. I told her that I was going to look at flights and try to come home in the morning. I told her to call me when she got home so I knew she was ok.

One hour later, 5pm, my cell phone rang from a frantic mother-in-law:

“Kip, Val is having an emergency c-section right now!!”

Time stopped.

My heart jumped out of my chest.

Tears rolled down my face.

“I’m on my way.”

The ensuing hours passed ever so slowly. My worst nightmare was unfolding before me and I knew at that very moment, my life was altered forever. True fear is an awareness of a complete lack of control and when it makes an appearance it is never quite what we expect.

In fact, it’s worse.

It was a solid 40 minute drive to the airport. I sat in the back of the cab shaking and bobbing my head back and forth. I can’t imagine what was going through the mind of my driver. He said not a single word the entire ride. My body was so overloaded with emotion that I honestly thought I may have a heart attack.

I stared out the side window of the car as we rolled down the freeway in a country and city with which I was not familiar. I had never felt more alone. Tears rolled down my face incessantly and as I fumbled for my cell phone and tried to dial, I couldn’t. My hands were shaking and I knew that once I made that call, I would get 1 of 2 answers, the first being that everything was OK. But if that wasn’t going to be the answer, I didn’t want to make the call. So for a short few minutes, I sat there, I stared out the window and tried to pull myself together.

Oddly enough, it was during those few moments of horrific contemplation, that everything suddenly made sense. For the first time in my life, I knew what I wanted with unambiguous clarity and focus. My mind slowed, the external world clouded, and all I could see was Val laughing, happy and smiling back at me.

My fingers dialed, I trembled, and tried to speak to the person on the other end. After a series of transfers, a woman with a soft and gentle, but scared voice came on the line.

“Kip?”

“Yes… “ That’s all I could get out.

She told me her name but I don’t remember what she said. She very briefly told me what had happened and that she was the nurse that was taking care of Val before all hell broke loose. She asked me if I was ok but I couldn’t physically answer. All I cared about was if Val was ok and somehow I was able to ask.

“She was stable the last time I saw her before they took her to the O.R. That’s all I know.”

I don’t think I ever knew how much I loved my wife until that very moment. You read about those moments of clarity that others have had during disasters, near-death experiences, intense moments of stress, and the like, but you never really understand it until it taps you on the shoulder or in this case, punches you in the face. I’m not sure if it was the most painful or beautiful feeling I’ve ever experienced. But for me, those two lines blurred into a single moment of intense and clarified vision of what was important in my life.

I don’t remember paying the driver, walking through the airport, going through security, customs, or the flight itself. I remember making at least one phone call to my mother in Florida to let her know what was happening but I couldn’t speak very much. She kept asking me what was wrong and I could only offer a few words at a time. The call was short and when we hung up, I was alone again about to board a plane en route to my worst nightmare.

I was most certainly in shock. When I arrived at Logan in Boston, I remember walking very briskly to baggage claim. I started to run, but stopped as I started shaking again. I didn’t know what I was going to find at the hospital. I didn’t know if I had lost my wife. I didn’t know if I had lost my first child – and twins at that. What if we lost the girls? What if I lost Val? Both? Every conceivable outcome flashed through my mind. I was not in control. My physical body took over and somehow it got me into a cab and to the hospital.

It must have been around 9 or 9:30pm. The lobby was eerily quiet for such a busy hospital even though it was a Friday night. I approached the security desk, mumbled something and was quickly escorted across the dimly lit expanse of a lobby, down a corridor to a set of elevators and up to what was to become our home for the next 93 days.

I walked into a room. And there she was – awake, groggy but talking, and alive.

What happened?

For reasons nobody still understands, the umbilical cord from one of the twins had ruptured from the placenta and Val was bleeding out. In a sheer twist of good fate, Val happened to already be at the hospital, happened to already have an I.V., and it happened to be during a shift change so there were double the number of clinicians that would have normally been on service. Val was losing blood and both babies were obviously in severe distress not only due to the fact they were only 27 ½ weeks, but were also losing blood.

There was no time. For the team, the primary focus was Val.

They performed an emergency c-section in what was later described to me as simply a scene of “controlled chaos” amid an enormously stressful situation even for the highly experienced staff. There were 20-30 doctors and nurses in the room that day at one of the best hospitals in the world and with one of the best and most advanced level 3 NICUs in the country.

The girls were literally yanked from Val’s body, 3 months too soon, and were immediately given life support measures. Their APGAR scores were 0 and 1 and weighed in at 1lb/15oz and 2lbs/2oz. Their umbilical cords were empty. Endless units of blood were tossed from one side of the room to the other and were quite literally squeezed into their lifeless bodies… until their tiny hearts began to beat again.

Several hours later, a doctor came in to check on Val. She told us that she had no doubt that Val would continue to heal and that she would recover well. And she told us that if Val had been home when this all happened, or even if she had been at the hospital but not already in a trauma room with an I.V., this may have been a different conversation.

We were grateful, but all we wanted to know was what was happening with the girls?

Val had waited for me to get to the hospital before going to see them: a gesture in kindness for which I will forever be grateful. Together we went to the NICU for the first time as parents to see the two tiny miracles that had just been subjected to the most violent, traumatic, and death-defying birth one can imagine.

We were both in a trance and could only stay for a few minutes but we were able to see them, touch their tiny hands, and let them hear our voices from behind a plastic window. Again, the lines of horror and beauty blurred.

ava.jpg

The doctor told us that Ava was holding on but that he “feared for little Zoe” and that he was not confident that she would make it through the night – that we should prepare ourselves.

I can’t find the words to describe that feeling. How is it possible to feel such paralyzing fear and pain and love, simultaneously, for someone you only met minutes before?

The next day, the sun rose after a sleepless night and the same doctor came in and sat on the bed.

“She’s still holding on.”

It was day one of what would be a 93 day residency at the Brigham & Women’s Hospital NICU. 93 days of utter pain, joy, horror, hope, and love. It would be a long time before we were even able to hold our girls but once we did, we’ve never let go. There were ups and downs, surgeries and therapies, scary drugs and scarier alternatives, tubes and wires, IVs, needles, and recurring bad news. Sleepless nights, lost appetites, and perpetual tears were the norm. We were numb.

But eventually the positives began to outweigh the negatives and gradually, every so slowly, they began to thrive and grow stronger with every labored breath as they so bravely and intently crawled their way back to life.

I’m not sure how we got through it all, but we did.

Finally, on Christmas Eve, Ava & Zoe came home together. It was our first holiday, our first day, as a family.

Several years later, they have never been apart, are best friends, and although we do have our challenges still, they are thriving beyond all expectations. They are the tallest kids in their class, are smart, funny as hell, and simply beautiful. And to add to the mix they have since been joined by their little brother Connor (also a 15 day graduate of the BWH NICU).

Together, they remind us what is important in life. And while having 3 small kids at home often tests our collective powers of patience and tolerance, we strive everyday to be the best parents that we can be and share with them our experience, strength and hope.

But that again blurs the lines between beauty and fear.

And that’s how I know, it will be OK.

 

Sunday, November 17th is World Prematurity Day which aims to raise awareness about the issue of premature birth all over the world. Each year, 15 million babies are born prematurely and over a million die as a result. Those that survive are often faced with lifelong health problems including developmental delays and cerebral palsy.

Video courtesy of the March of Dimes

World Prematurity Day

For more information: facebook.com/WorldPrematurityDay

Share this:

  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • More
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to print (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: Top Posts, Uncategorized

  • Page 1
  • Page 2
  • Next Page »

Primary Sidebar

Instagram

Load More...Follow on Instagram

Recent Posts

  • 2019
  • Routinely Autumn
  • The Playlist Curator
  • That Second First Best Friend
  • Little Bastard
  • 10 Years Ago, Yesterday
  • Pearl Jam | Fenway Park | August 5th, 2016
  • Hidden Treasures
  • An Open Letter to Georgetown
  • Year In Review – 2015

As Seen On

Boston.Com

The Boston Globe

Tubalub

Archives

Subscribe

Enter your email address to subscribe and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Copyright © 2019 · Foodie Pro & The Genesis Framework

loading Cancel
Post was not sent - check your email addresses!
Email check failed, please try again
Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email.